


Elastic Heart

by orphan_account, Prop_Logic



Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Depression, Friendship, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prop_Logic/pseuds/Prop_Logic
Summary: I don't really have a summary for this, to be honest? I'd just advise not reading it unless you're in a good place mentally and feel that you're stable enough to stay that way.
Relationships: Jamie George & Owen Farrell
Kudos: 11





	Elastic Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Again, please don't read it if it could have an adverse effect on you psychologically, and make sure you take note of the tags. This is really my own self-therapy more than anything, and I'm probably not in a great place, so do be careful. On the upside, there's someone who's been helping me a lot with this sort of thing. On the downside, I think I'm very much overly dependent on him. On the upside, he's fit and generally nice, and I have a huge crush on him. On the downside, he's over ten years older than me, which isn't a problem in itself only he's my maths teacher. And my head of year. On the upside, I'm 18 tomorrow, so it'd technically be legal... ;)  
> Kidding. Don't have relationships with your teachers. Bad idea. Very bad idea. No matter how tempting. 
> 
> Oh, and I will update my other fic at some point (yes, I have honestly forgotten its name...), but I'm still working on the chapter at the moment, not to mention trying to work out where it's actually going to go, so...

It’s Owen who eventually comes. When the world has turned cold and silent and Jamie has been sitting all alone for more time than he cares to quantify, it’s Owen who slips into the gym and sits down – not on a mat or one of the nearby chairs, but on the floor, right by Jamie’s side. Jamie himself stares right ahead, quietly grateful for the company but still unable to summon so much as a smile or a greeting, and doesn’t move.

“I thought I’d find you down here,” Owen tells him after a good minute of quiet, then the younger man’s head tilts sideways to settle on Jamie’s shoulder, Owen shifting closer until Jamie can feel the rise and fall of his ribcage.

Still, Jamie can only manage a nod of acknowledgement, clenching his hands together where they clasp in front of his knees, holding his legs tucked up against him. His eyes have been a little warm for some time, now, and they’re heating up with each passing second as Owen sits with him, the silence stretching onwards with just a touch less hostility than before Owen arrived.

“If you ever want to talk about anything, you know I’ll listen, right?” Owen adds eventually, Jamie nodding jerkily. “And if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine, too.”

Jamie has lost count of the number of times that Owen has said this, but Owen seems to have an instinctual understanding that merely saying it once is not enough, and that even if Jamie will rarely act on them, the words are still comforting to hear.

The quiet falls again, Owen shifting briefly in a clear attempt to find a more comfortable position before settling himself against Jamie once more; Jamie’s eyes slip shut on the tears welling in them as he allows himself to lean into the solid comfort his friend provides. It’s a good thing, he thinks, that he feels able to cry; people think it’s worse when you’re crying every day, but really, the torture is when you’re constantly on the verge of it, unable to do anything but swallow it back day after day, all the hurt and exhaustion building up without release.

Owen helps him get it out, a lot of the time.

“Did you see what Cips put on Instagram?”

The question is quiet when it comes, soft to avoid disturbing the peace that has started to drift in, and Jamie almost finds his voice, but can’t quite tip himself over into speaking, so he nods instead.

“What he said about… buying the gun,” Owen hedges, and when Jamie glances at him, his teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on the same spot as Jamie’s have been for the entirety of the one-sided conversation so far. “Please… Just don’t, yeah?”

There’s something small and almost fragile in Owen’s voice, a little bit of the fear and concern that breaks Jamie’s heart whenever he hears it drifting in, and the tears sting a little as they rise again.

“I won’t,” he croaks, blinking fiercely; he’s not _quite_ ready to cry, as much as he needs to.

Without another word, Owen nods and blows out a quiet breath. Jamie lets a little more of his friend’s warmth seep into him, chasing the chill from his core, and doesn’t admit that he’s thought about it before; Owen knows that full well, and it doesn’t need to be brought up again.

“If you… _ever_ feel like that,” the younger man whispers after another minute, “Talk to me? Doesn’t matter what I’m doing – if we’re playing, if I’m looking after Tommy, if I’m on holiday. If you can’t reach me, tell Katie, yeah?”

Speechless, Jamie can only offer yet another nod.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Owen adds softly. “You know you mean a lot to me, right? And… it’s going to get better.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, though the single word sounds hollow to his own ears; it doesn’t seem like this will ever end, really.

Owen talks about pain and sadness like they’re temporary states, like comfort and happiness are the default, but if Jamie’s ever felt like that, then he doesn’t remember it.

Maybe he must have done, to have made it this far.

Again, the tears sting in his eyes.

“Georgie sent me a video,” Owen tells him, already pulling out his phone, and Jamie turns his attention slowly to it, “Of Tommy.”

It’s a cute video, and funny, too; Jamie manages a weak smile, glad that Owen isn’t offended by his lack of enthusiasm. As his smile falls away, his lips twist in the opposite direction, the heat in his eyes flaring for a second before he wrestles it all back under control.

“Did something set this off today?” Owen asks when the phone is away once more, Jamie managing a shrug that dislodges Owen’s head ever so slightly.

“I just… woke up,” Jamie explains, a faintly bitter huff escaping, and the first tear slips forth, solitary for the time being as his voice hoarsens to a croak. “I felt pretty shit then, and… I don’t know, I just kind of… slid.”

A second tear drips silently down to join the first. The words don’t really encapsulate what the day felt like, how he seemed to be on a collision-course for the inevitable and yet still had to suffer through the torturous hope that maybe, he could keep himself happy today before that was snatched away by nothing and no one at all.

“Now I just feel so… fucking… _empty_ ,” he chokes out, and then his breath hitches, his shoulders rising and falling again, and the weak attempt he makes at getting himself back under control does nothing, everything bursting out as Owen shifts to slip an arm around him.

The sob that rips its way through him sounds more like the kind of noise a wounded animal would make than anything that Jamie recognises as human, but he finds he doesn’t care as his eyes _burn_ with the tears that cascade forth, and there’s nothing to do but slump into Owen as he tugs his knees closer to his chest than ever. His lips twist uncontrollably, salty liquid dripping into his open mouth as he gasps for air; his nose is blocked, his throat rasping painfully with each shuddering inhale, and all the while, he clings to the secure hold that Owen has on him as a way to ground himself, to keep from getting swept up in the storm.

He feels so cold, so empty, today, and the whole world just seems so hopeless. Nothing’s going to get better. Nothing ever does.

“I’ve got you,” Owen tells him, hugging him tighter, and honestly, he believes it.

If there’s anyone he trusts to have his back, it’s Owen. It’s just that he’s not sure it will ever be enough to get him through to the other side – if there even is another side to get to – and Owen’s too good for him anyway. Jamie hasn’t done anything to deserve a friend who’d put up with all of this, who’d seek him out just to sit with him while he cries his eyes out, who’d turn up again and again to support him without complaint or anything in return. Jamie has nothing to give him, no way to pay him back.

It isn’t long before his eyes burn with each desperate, choking sob, his skull pulsing with pain, and yet the tears show no sign of stopping, everything crashing in as he tries not to think about how much he just wants it all to _end_. Owen says it will get better, and Jamie wants to believe him, but it just seems so impossible, and is whatever could be at the hypothetical end to all of this even worth it?

On the one hand, he knows that he has to keep going for Owen, for Katie, for his family, but on the other…

Sometimes, that doesn’t seem like enough.

He knows it’s selfish, he really does, but sometimes, he can’t even bring himself to care about that. He’s just tired of hurting all the time.

Finally, the sobs die down without relapse, Owen’s hand now stroking lightly through his hair in comfort, and Jamie takes the opportunity to breathe shakily, closing his raw eyes on the world as he lets Owen take more of the weight of his exhausted body. Owen bears it in silence, not a word of complaint spoken, and quiet falls once more, their gradually synchronised breathing the only sound throughout the otherwise empty gym. At some point, they should probably head back and join the team – Jamie will wash his face before that, of course – but right now, he’d rather sit here for as long as Owen is willing to stay, slowly soaking in his friend’s warmth again.


End file.
